


Offers

by mrstater



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2014-05-05
Packaged: 2018-01-21 23:59:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1568624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrstater/pseuds/mrstater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What would bring Sir Richard Carlisle to Lord Grantham's garage?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Offers

_1919_

The last person Tom expected to saunter into the garage was Sir Richard Carlisle. Not because he believed the newspaper baron was indeed the snob the Crawleys, including Sybil, made him out to be, but because in the two years that he’d been driving him to and from the Downton station, Sir Richard had scarcely uttered as many words to him. Just as well; Tom knew the intellectual Edinburgh set had as little time for Irish politics as the English, even if they weren’t Tories.

He did have to give the publisher some credit for standing by his Liberal principles, though, and he’d said as much to Sybil. _If Carlisle’s only marrying your sister for her position, then why doesn’t he ingratiate himself to your lot by toeing the party line? Why doesn’t he print their propaganda like Northcliffe and Beaverbrook? That takes guts._ Without missing a beat, Sybil had arched a sculpted eyebrow in an expression that would have been rather alarmingly her eldest sister’s, if not for the distinct difference of the nurse’s cap above it, and asked, _Or money?_

Smothering a smile at the memory, Tom straightened up from the Renault and faced his surprising visitor.

"May I be of some assistance, Sir Richard?"

"I wondered if one of the cars might be available for my use," Carlisle replied, pleasantly enough in his schooled accent, slipping his hands into the pockets of his grey wool trousers. "I’m taking Lady Mary over to see how the work’s coming along at Haxby, and fancy driving us myself. Scandalous though it may be not to have a chauffeur."

_Or a chaperon?_  

"Is there a man who doesn’t fancy a drive with his girl?"

Tom relished those moments himself, when it was just him and Sybil and the open road and he could almost believe she was _his girl_. If she weren’t sat in the back, reminding him that she was the lady and he was her father’s servant.

Turning back to the motor’s open bonnet, he said, “I’ll be through with the Renault in a bit. If you need one sooner you’re welcome to any of the others.”

Sir Richard’s shoes scuffed on the concrete floor as he stepped further into the garage, inspecting Lord Grantham’s small fleet of motors. He _hmmed_ , eyebrows drawing together beneath the brim of his trilby.

Tom grinned. “Not quite up to your speed?”

"In town I drive a Silver Ghost."

Tom couldn’t stop himself giving a low whistle. “Now that’s a beauty.”

Carlisle nodded, the corners of his mouth curving in an appreciative smile. One hand emerged from a pocket to trail the contours of the Sunbeam. “Have you driven one?”

"I haven’t had that pleasure."

"Perhaps you will, someday. I’ll bring it here, I suppose, when we move to Haxby."

He glanced away, but Tom didn’t miss the flicker in Sir Richard’s cheek as he worked his jaw. When would that day be? Last Sybil told him, Mary still hadn’t set a date for the wedding.

"Are you making me a job offer?" Tom joked to diffuse the tension, but when Sir Richard stopped on the other side of the Renault, his face was perfectly serious.

"Do you want me to?"

Tom fiddled with the head of his wrench as he considered the other man and his question then, leaning over the engine again, muttered, “I don’t intend to be a chauffeur forever.”

How many years had passed since he uttered those words to Sybil? More confidently. Cock-sure, even. He gave a stubborn bolt a half-hearted tug. What had he done with his dreams in the meantime? Made a cow-pat cocktail, that was all.

"I’m glad to hear it," said Sir Richard. "It’s not my habit to offer jobs to people who lack ambition."

Instinctively, Tom’s shoulders tensed, and he gritted his teeth. There was nothing more condescending than being spoken of as _Lord Grantham’s political chauffeur_ , as though he were a circus side-show _._ But as Sir Richard’s words echoed in his mind, he decided that there was no mockery in his tone. He laid down his wrench and wiped his hands on a towel hanging off the Renault’s side mirror.

"I’m listening."

"There’s no shame in chauffeuring, but the profession hasn’t launched as many political careers as, say, journalism."

"Indeed."

"How would you like to be a correspondent in Dublin?"

"I think," said Tom, slowly, "that might suit me very well. How long do I have to think it over?"

_To discuss it with Sybil._

"There’s no rush," replied Sir Richard. "I plan on it being out for rather a leisurely drive."


End file.
